Swords to Plowshares
by Cedar
Summary: Seeking structure and security in a society slowly turning to chaos, Percy's discoveries lead him down a path that will force him to question everything he thought he knew.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: All the characters and places in this work belong to J.K. Rowling and the large corporations with which she is associated. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  


**Author's Notes**: Many thanks go to my wonderful beta reader, H.F.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


Tonight would be unparalleled by any other night of my life, I was sure. As I combed my hair and straightened my robes, I looked at the picture of Penelope on my dresser. She smiled up at me, shyly brushing her hair out of her eyes.   


I hadn't told anyone what I was planning for tonight, afraid that if I let any detail slip, everything would be ruined. That didn't seem to matter, however, as I could see myself smiling every time I passed a mirror, and Fred, George, and Ron were teasing me more than usual. "Percy's got a secret," they said, or "You look happy, Percy; did Mum put extra starch in your underwear?" Taking extra precautions against telling them what I was planning, I stayed silent, refusing to rise to their bait. All week, my parents had asked me if there was anything I wanted to talk about, but I declined their offers. It was a week when I wished I could whistle, or sing, or have the ability to produce anything more than what I figured to be exactly four notes of music.   


I invited Penelope on a date, dinner and a walk in a local garden, someplace romantic that encouraged conversation. Just a few weeks out of Hogwarts, I missed Penelope very much. I hadn't realized how much our daily talks brightened my days, or how much I needed that outlet for my thoughts. I didn't make friends easily, and it had come as something of a surprise when Penelope expressed interest in me after a prefect meeting in our sixth year. Since then, my moments with her had been some of the happiest in my life.   


Dinner was wonderful, relaxing, and she seemed pleased that I had chosen someplace quiet and relatively secluded to go afterwards. We walked and talked, never growing tired of the subject of the future. It had never occurred to me that I would do anything else with my life except work for the Ministry of Magic, and I was waiting to hear the results of several interviews I'd had in different departments. Penelope thought she might be interested in a career with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but it seemed like every time we talked, she had a different idea as to what she wanted to do with her life; last week, she had mentioned pursuing a career with the _Daily Prophet_.   


"But Penny," I said, "this first job out of school is one of the most important decisions we're ever going to make. This is going to set the standard for everything we'll do in the future. A good job now, even if it's just entry level in the right department, is going to get you everywhere you want to be. It's not even so much what kind of job you do, but who you're working for." We continued to circle the gardens, hand in hand, admiring the bright summer flowers and the trees that only bloomed for these few high summer weeks during the year.   


"I know, I know," she replied, pausing in front of a pink flowering shrub. Her eyes were shining, the way they always got when she was deep in thought, excited about her newest idea. "It's just that there's so much that sounds interesting. One day I wake up and think that I might like to be a Healer, or an Auror, or something that involves a lot of travel and intrigue, but sometimes I think that maybe I want something where I can just settle, like working in a library somewhere, or in some department that's...I don't know, important but not important at the same time. Do you understand what I'm saying?"   


"I'm not sure. Don't you want to do something with your life?" I wasn't too sure I liked the direction this conversation was taking, and my dinner started turning over in my stomach. Out of nervous habit, I reached into the pocket of my robes with my other hand, running my thumb over the surface of my wand. Penelope was never uncertain about anything; it was one of the things I liked best about her. We tended to agree on things, have similar goals, and to hear her flustered over our potential careers rang warning bells in my head.   


"Of course I do, Percy! I guess I'm just not sure what that something is."   


"Well, it's something you're going to have to decide fairly quickly. I know you won't have any trouble, though. You're smart," I squeezed her hand, "and beautiful," she smiled faintly, "and any office would be lucky to have you."   


"But what if I don't want to work in an office?"   


"No one ever said you had to. I just figured that we'd want to start things together." We paused together in front of a flowerbed, and I turned to face her, holding one of her hands in both of mine. I hadn't, even through all my planning, expected to be this nervous. My knees grew weak, and my lower lip trembled.   


"Percy, I-"   


"Penny-"   


"-don't think I can-"   


"Will you marry me?"   


"-keep...What did you say?"   


"Marry me, Penelope," I said, more confident now that I had the words out. "I love you, and I think we could have a wonderful life together."   


"How long have you been planning to ask me?"   


I felt sweat beading under my arms. "Aren't...aren't you going to say yes?"   


"Percy..." I felt her hand slacken in mine. "I...I don't," she broke into a sob, "think I can. I mean, I really like you, but I can't right now."   


The sweat suddenly felt like it had turned to ice, and I fumbled for words. "But...but why? Everything would be so perfect. We could work together, and someday I'll be Minister of Magic and we'll travel the world. Wouldn't you like to see Australia, or India, or Africa?"   


"Of course I would, but I don't think this is the right time. I don't know if...if any time would be the right time." She bit her lip and looked at the ground.   


"What do you mean?"   


"I feel like our marriage would just be another step on the ladder of Things Percy Weasley Has to Do. You have your whole life planned: Leave school, get a job at the Ministry, get married, and work your way up through their departments until you become Minister of Magic."   


"What's...What's wrong with that?" I asked. I was horrified. Scared. My hands started curling backward from nerves, the way they had when I opened my N.E.W.T. letters. I couldn't hold on to anything, could barely remain standing from the shock of her words, by how sure she sounded that I had no real love for her, that she was nothing more than an accomplishment to me.   


"Nothing's necessarily wrong with it, but I'm not sure I want to grow up to be the wife of the Minister of Magic," she said.   


"You wouldn't be the wife of the Minister of Magic, you'd be _my_ wife."   


"And that's another thing, the whole _my_ bit."   


"What bit is that?"   


Penelope sighed and pulled her hand out of mine. In an unvoiced desperation I reached for it again, but she stepped away from me. "Percy, I...think it would be better if we didn't date anymore and we were just friends."   


"What? But Penny," I gasped, tears forming a foundation in my throat, "I don't want to be your friend. I want to be your husband."   


She started to cry, and reached into the pocket of her robe for a handkerchief. "It's not...not a matter of choice."   


I opened my mouth but no sound came out, and the rest of me felt as though someone had cast a Full-Body Bind. "You...you don't..."   


"Oh Percy, you're wonderful, really, but...we're not going in the same direction in life," she said, wiping her eyes.   


"How is that possible? Haven't we talked about this before?"   


"You're so smart, and so...you have so many goals. You already have your whole life planned out, and everything you do, everything you say, is designed to get you someplace. Whatever job you get with the Ministry now doesn't really matter to you, as long as you can move up."   


"It does matter to me!" She didn't understand. How could my closest companion, confidante, and love not understand one of the things that meant so much to me? "I only applied in certain departments. I wouldn't work just anywhere, you know. I'm not going to work in...on something like the Broom Regulatory Council. It has to be--"   


"You're missing the point. Percy...I'm sorry. I know you mean well, but you've gotten so possessive lately. You always want to be with me, and you always want me to be a part of whatever it is you're doing regardless of whether I want to do it or not."   


"That's because I enjoy the time we spend together," I said quickly. Maybe I could remedy this. "When I'm with you, everything is more enjoyable."   


"That's not what I meant," she sighed, continuing to wipe her eyes. "I meant that you always want me to drop whatever I'm doing and spend time with you. You're suffocating me. I just can't keep up with your demands anymore."   


"Please, Penny," I begged, "I'll do whatever you want me to. We...we don't have to see each other as often." I knew I was done for. I knew it, but I had to keep trying. I couldn't give up the most important person in my life. "You can choose what we do on our dates, or we don't have to do anything at all! Please...I love you, Penny. You mean the world to me. Please, won't you reconsider?"   


"It's too late, Percy. Maybe we could have fixed this, I don't know, a few months ago, but not now."   


I didn't remember much of what she said after that. Somewhere in there I think I tried to make more protests, to make Penelope see that she was wrong in her perceptions, but everything I said fell flat. She countered every reason I had for us to stay together, as though she had played out this scene a hundred times in front of a mirror and made a preemptive strike at any reason I might have to argue with her.   


As the last fragments of sunlight fell behind the horizon, she looked into my face, said she was sorry...so sorry...and left.   


I didn't follow her around the corner of the garden, but sat down on a nearest bench. Unsure as to whether I would ever move again, I sank into my thoughts and what I could remember of our conversation. Possessive? Was I really? Was it so wrong to want to be the best, or to reap the benefits that came with it? No, she was...had been...more to me than that. Torn between a need to curse the nearest object and cry, though I never cried, I stayed where I was, not moving. I loved her. Loving Penny wasn't the same as wanting to possess her. Didn't she see that? I didn't understand what she meant. More appropriately, my head didn't understand what she meant, but my heart did. I don't remember how long I sat on that bench, only that my elbows left painful imprints in my thighs when I stood to go home.   


Upon arriving in the living room, I saw Ron sitting in a chair reading something I thought I recognized as his book on the Chudley Cannons. I turned to him but didn't say anything, even to break the silence. He continued to read, and I had a thought. I wanted to do something, anything, to keep my mind off Penelope, even if the solution was only temporary. Walking over to the small credenza in the dining room, I took an old chess set out of the bottom drawer. It probably hadn't been used in a while; many of the pieces seemed to be in hibernation. The black king and queen had their arms around each other, and one of the bishops snorted as he turned over in his place in the box.   


I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Ron, realizing that it didn't matter at this point whether I wrinkled my robes. "Would you like to play?" I asked, gesturing to the empty board.   


Ron looked up. "What?"   


"Chess. I asked if you'd like to play."   


He raised an eyebrow, as though he was trying to figure out my ulterior motive. "Why?"   


I shook my head. Emotionally drained, I was in no mood to explain or argue. "Never mind. It was a foolish idea anyway."   


As I reached for the corner of the board, Ron put his book down and slid off the chair, moving to sit across from me.   


"It's okay." He started pulling pieces out of the box.   


"Would you like to play white or black?"   


Shrugging, he reached for a white pawn and a black pawn, shuffling them behind his back and holding two fists in front of himself. I tapped his right hand, not that it mattered. I hadn't won a game of chess against Ron since I taught him to play.   


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Percy! Percy, wake up. There's someone here who wants to talk to you."   


"Hmm?" It had been three in the morning or so before I went to sleep, Ron keeping me company through multiple games of chess. I didn't know whether it was seven in the morning or seven in the evening. All I knew was that I had finally given into exhaustion and dragged myself upstairs. I had been dreaming of nothing, and I was not interested in leaving my warm, comfortable bed.   


"Percy!" My mother pulled my covers away, and I groaned at the sudden rush of cooler air. "Bartemius Crouch from the Ministry is here. He wants to talk to you."   


I sat up, panicking. Bartemius Crouch? I'd had a job interview with him just last week. Now was a terrible time for him to come here. My hair was a mess. I needed a shower. I was wearing my pajamas! "Mother, I can't talk to him now! I'm not dressed."   


"You'll be fine. Just put your dressing-gown on and run a comb through your hair." Her voice dropped to an excited whisper. "I think he wants to offer you a job!"   


"I can't take a job in my dressing-gown! I have to look professional."   


"You're going to be professionally unemployed if you don't get yourself down to the fireplace and talk to Mr. Crouch. Get up now!" She grabbed my arm, pulling me out bed. A comb found its way into my hand, and I made myself look as presentable as I could. When my mother left, I walked downstairs into the living room, took a deep breath, and headed for the kitchen. My entire family, including Fred and George, was there. Panic shot through me. Were Fred and George going to do anything to try to ruin my conversation, like catapulting eggs at my head or worse, casting a Silencing Charm every time I opened my mouth? I looked pleadingly at my mother for a moment, and she nodded, seeming to understand my worry. I didn't think I could deal with their antics right now, not in front of Mr. Crouch, not on four hours of sleep, and most definitely not the morning after last night's Penelope disaster.   


Mr. Crouch's head was in the fire. He smiled when he saw me.   


"Ah, Mr. Weasley, good morning! I'm sorry to have disturbed you so early on a Monday."   


"It's quite all right sir. I'm...normally an early riser," I said, kneeling in front of the fire. A rustle and a hiss behind me gave me the impression that my mother was trying to keep Fred under control.   


"Good to hear, because I'm hoping that you'll have a lot of early mornings from now on. Mr. Weasley, I'd like to offer you a position in my department, the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Your references and interview were outstanding, and I believe you'd be an asset to one of the most important departments at the Ministry."   


The room was silent, and for a moment I wasn't sure I had heard properly. Bartemius Crouch was one of the most important people at the Ministry of Magic, and he wanted me to work for him? "You...you're hiring me?" The minute I spoke, I felt like an idiot. Of course he was hiring me! I put on what I thought was my best professional face and posture, trying to compensate for my ridiculous question. I couldn't let everything overwhelm me, couldn't let on that last night had been one of the worst nights of my life.   


"I certainly am, Mr. Weasley, if you'll accept."   


Composure. I smiled. "I will, Mr. Crouch. I would be delighted to work in your department, sir. Thank you."   


"Wonderful. Shall I see you in a week, at eight o'clock on Monday morning?"   


"Yes, sir. That sounds fine." It felt like my words were coming from an entirely different person, from a place I'd never visited.   


"Good, good. I'll see you then." With that, Mr. Crouch disappeared from the fire. When he was gone, all the nerves I'd been suppressing fired to life at once, and I collapsed sideways, still staring into the flames, supporting myself with one hand.   


"Are you all right, Percy?" asked my father.   


"I'm fine. Fine." I was stunned. I had a job, and not just a job, but the beginning of a career. "I have a job," I mused, liking the way my lips felt as they formed the words.   


"You do," my mother confirmed, "and you start next Monday." She pulled me to my feet, guiding me to the table. I sat, not seeing my family or my breakfast in front of me.   


"Congratulations, Percy," said Ginny, and when I focused on the source of the sound, I saw her smiling.   


"Yeah, good job, Perce," added Ron, and I saw George wince as Ron shifted slightly in his seat.   


"So...er...what department was that again?" asked George.   


I found my voice and sat straighter in my chair as my mother piled eggs and toast on my plate. "The Department of International Magical Cooperation. It's quite important, and honestly, I didn't really expect that they'd hire me right out of Hogwarts. It's a very prestigious department, responsible for wizarding relations, and more importantly, regulations, all over the world. I don't know if there will be a lot of travel for me right now, but if not now, opportunities will definitely come in the near future. Bartemius Crouch, you know, is quite well known for his work not just with the Ministry here, but in Belgium and Germany, really, all of Western Europe." I paused for a minute and saw that my family had gone back to their breakfasts.   


"We're all very proud of you, Percy," said my father. "All of us," he emphasized, looking at Fred and George.   


"I'll owl Bill and Charlie to let them know about this when we're done with breakfast," my mother told us. "And I'll also need help from all of you today. The chickens need to be fed, and I saw a few gnomes in the garden yesterday...they never learn, do they? Arthur, you had better get to work. You'll be late."   


My father looked at his watch, and quickly took a last bite of toast. "Yes, you're right." He stood, hugged each of us in turn, kissed my mother goodbye, and Apparated from the kitchen.   


"Eat, Percy," ordered my mother, waving her wand at the pans she had used to make breakfast. "You don't start that job for another week, and I still need help around here. Fainting from hunger is not an excuse for getting out of your chores."   


"Yes, Mother." Suddenly famished, I picked up my fork and started on my eggs. A piece of toast was halfway to my mouth when Ginny spoke.   


"Did you have a good time with Penelope last night?"   


My throat closed at her question, and I had to force myself to swallow the food that was in my mouth. "It was fine," I replied quickly. "You know, just...just the usual date. Nothing special."   


"Really? You spent an awful lot of time in the bathroom last night before you left for something not that special...not that anyone else needed to get in there."   


"How much time I spend getting ready for a date is no one's business but mine, Ginny. When you start dating, you'll probably spend twice as much time in there as I do."   


"There's no need to snap at your sister, Percy," said my mother sternly. "Both of you, could you try to get through one day in this house without fighting? Finish your breakfast, and let's get moving."   


Moving, however, was the last thing I felt like doing. I pushed my plate away and stood. "I'm done, thank you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get dressed. I'll be back shortly." Placing my napkin on the table, I left the kitchen and slowly climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Once inside, I shut the door and lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I thought I was going to be fine. I had been fine until Ginny mentioned Penny. The minute her name was mentioned, it was though someone opened a floodgate inside me. I had forced myself to not think of the previous night, of the rejection and Penny's terrible words, that I was possessive and she was just another goal to me. Now, the thoughts consumed me, rushing through my mind and washing away anything else I had called on to keep them away. Clenching my fists, I curled in a ball on my side in some strange misguided hope that maybe if I could make myself small enough, I would disappear entirely and not have to worry about the fact that Penny and I were no longer together.   


What little of my breakfast I had eaten churned in my stomach as I made myself admit the truth. To say that Penny and I "were no longer together" was a revolting euphemism at best. She had ended our relationship. I had asked for her hand in marriage, and she had broken up with me. She would go on with her life, get married to someone else, have children...and I would never be a part of it. In a matter of months, she'd probably forget about me entirely, forget that I had ever meant anything to her. I was never going to make her laugh again, or talk to her about books or magic or...or anything.   


Someone knocked on my door.   


"Percy?"   


Ginny. "What?"   


"Mum needs your help downstairs. Come on."   


"Go away."   


"Percy, are you all right?"   


"I'm fine, Ginny. Everything is fine. Please leave. I'll be downstairs shortly."   


"Did something happen with you and Penelope last night?"   


"Go away!"   


"I thought so." She walked away, and I closed my eyes again. I let myself hear every small sound in the house, from Ron's owl banging around in his cage to my mother talking to the twins, Ron, and Ginny in the kitchen. My Apparition licensing test wasn't until August, two weeks before the Quidditch World Cup, so I couldn't really go anywhere except out to the garden to work.   


I thought back to when Penny and I first met, and how we started spending more time together, and our first kiss. Rolling onto my back, I wished I could turn time back not to the beginning of our relationship, but to the middle of it, when we were past the awkward beginnings but hadn't developed...well, Penny hadn't developed...the resentment that led to our end. I didn't feel empty. Not yet. I was too numb to be empty.   


"Percy! Get down here!"   


My mother's voice brought me out of my Penelope fog. "In a minute, Mother!" I put on some old clothes, tied my shoes, and went down to help Ron and the twins in the yard.   


It was still early in the morning, so although the sky was a clear, pure blue, the sun was not yet too hot. As the last one out, I got stuck with the job everyone hated the most: weeding. There was no good way to do it with magic, on the chance that a spell would miss the weed and hit one of the tangled vegetable plants, or that I might mistake a weed for a vegetable. Kneeling in front of a row of green tomatoes, I started to pull weeds, ignoring the ache that built in my arms and the slivers of leaves in my hands. I felt rather than saw the sun rise as my back grew increasingly warm, and I continued to weed quickly, focusing on moving from one plant to the next. Fred and George's voices disappeared; there was nothing left right now but me, the plants, and my thoughts of Penelope. Even the prospect of my new job couldn't completely push the memories of last night from my mind.   


For a week I repeated this day: barely eating, working in the garden, and studying for my Apparation test in the evenings as I listened to the explosions coming from Fred and George's room. I missed Penelope terribly, and even fell asleep with her picture in my hand one night. Her photograph never directly looked at me anymore, but seemed to always focus somewhere around my right shoulder. I didn't have the heart to hide it in my drawer, to admit to my family that the Penelope period in my life had come to a too-abrupt close, but I felt guilty looking at it.   


Sunday evening finally arrived, and after dinner I bathed, set out my clothes for the next day, and climbed into bed. I couldn't get comfortable no matter how I turned, anticipating the next morning. In the final moments before I slipped into unconsciousness, I thought of Penelope, and for the first time in nearly a week I allowed myself to be sad, to feel the emptiness she had left in my life. The next morning, the hollow inside me was filled with adrenaline, pushing away my sorrow in favor of my new beginning. I forced my breakfast down, Flooed to the Ministry offices, and climbed out of their fires shaking in my nervousness as I brushed ash from my robes.   


I smiled as I stood in the Atrium, enjoying the hum and motion of the air, so different from the past week where every day in the garden was the same. The Ministry headquarters never ceased to awe me, with the shining fountain and windows that today streamed bright with sunlight. I had arrived early, under my father's advice that I would have to have my wand weighed and possibly fill out some paperwork.   


The people in the hallways now were rushing, checking their watches as if every glance would buy them an extra minute to get down the corridor. I found my way toward the security station and stood in line between two rather nervous-looking wizards wearing silver visitors' badges.   


When my turn came, I attempted to introduce myself, but the security guard, looking up at me, took the words from my mouth. "Never seen you before in my life," he said, "but your last name has got to be Weasley. You look just like your father." He checked my name off a list and scanned me with a sort of long, flexible stick.   


"Wand," ordered the security guard. I pulled it from the pocket of my robes, hesitant to give it up. I knew this was official procedure, but I hated giving my wand to another person for any reason.   


He placed my wand on the brass scales, which a moment later produced a strip of parchment. "Thirteen and a quarter inches, laurel, dragon heartstring core, been in use seven years. Correct?"   


"Yes, sir."   


He returned my wand. "I keep the paper. Say hello to your father for me."   


"I will. Thank you, sir."   


I spun my wand in my fingertips as I headed to the lifts. It was an absolutely perfect proportional length. When the end rested in the crook of my elbow, the tip lay in the center of my palm. It was my most prized possession, and I made sure to take the care to maintain it.   


I remembered perfectly the day my parents, Bill, and Charlie had taken me to Ollivander's. My overwhelming thought had been that I wished they would leave me alone to wander the shop for hours, touching every wand until I found the one that was perfect for me. It seemed to me a library of magic, every box containing knowledge that for a short time would be mine alone to acquire. I would find the perfect wand, one that was something more than a wand, an extension of myself.   


I had known from the minute I touched the wand that it was mine, even before my fingers closed around the handle. It was warm and seemed to vibrate in my grasp. My breath caught when I touched it, and Bill must have seen my expression.   


"Found one, Percy?"   


In that moment, I was incapable of speaking. It had hit me right then that I was magical, that I had something that separated me from Muggles, that I could perform charms and Transfigure, that I would go to school and learn to do everything I saw Bill and Charlie doing and more.   


"This one," I had managed to say, though my throat was tight with knowledge. This was what they meant by the term "wizard," that surge of energy that would allow me to control and change and mutate the world. I had abilities most of the world's population could never begin to fathom, and I would cultivate them, rise above the norm.   


Mr. Ollivander had to pull my wand out of my hand in order to put it in the box. "A most unusual wand you've chosen, Percy Weasley...or shall I say it's a most unusual wand that has chosen you."   


"What do you mean?"   


"Laurel. Very few wands are crafted from laurel, and fewer wizards still are capable, or deserving, of bearing one. You aspire to great things, you will work hard to achieve them, and you will attain them, oh yes, absolutely."   


"It just...it felt right."   


He smiled at me, pale blue eyes focused on my own. "I know, Percy. I know."   


Following the groggy masses of Ministry workers toward the lifts, I walked in and mimicked everyone else's motions, ducking the memos that flew into the lift with us. At level five, I squeezed past the very large wizard in front of me and followed the signs down the hall and to the right. Checking my watch, I was pleased to see that I was ten minutes early. Perfect. It was just enough time to take care of anything that had to be done before I could officially start my day, but not so much as to look overly eager. When I reached the door of the office of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, I made sure to stand straight and walk through as though I had been doing this for years.   


The office was nearly empty but for a few people who barely looked up from their desks as I entered. I paused in the doorway, looking for Mr. Crouch. When I didn't see him, I approached the woman sitting at the desk closest to the doorway.   


"Pardon me, madam, but I start work in this department today and-"   


"Mr. Weasley! Glad to see you made it without too much trouble," interrupted Mr. Crouch, coming out of his private office, which was located just off the west wall of the room.   


"Thank you, Mr. Crouch." I extended my hand to shake his. "Really, I had no trouble at all. I'm glad to be here."   


"Have you been through security and had your wand weighed?"   


"Yes," I replied, proud that I was already a step ahead of the game.   


"Good. I assume you're ready to get started?" Mr. Crouch indicated an empty desk to one side of the room.   


Turning to make eye contact, I couldn't help but smile. "I am, sir."   


  
t.b.c. 


	2. Chapter 2

This morning was our weekly meeting, and it seemed to me like everyone in the department would be asleep on the table but for their numerous cups of coffee. It was too bad, I thought, because the agenda was worthy of note. For the first time in hundreds of years, Hogwarts was going to host a Triwizard Tournament, and our department was well into the plans for reassessing its rules and regulations. The Ministry had been working on the plans for two years, but everyone who worked there was under a gag order as to the specifics. When I first learned of the tournament, it was all I could do to not run home and tell Ron, Ginny, and the twins, but that wasn't worth my job. As it was, it was sort of fun to drop hints that I knew something they didn't and watch their frustration. They would find out soon enough anyway. Other than that, the major project in our department was the Quidditch World Cup. We were supposed to be working in partnership with the Department of Magical Games and Sports, but our requests always seemed to get lost in the shuffle. The head of their department, Ludo Bagman, was a nice enough man and for some strange reason seemed to take a liking to me, but getting any help was difficult at best. Before dismissing us from the meeting, Mr. Crouch closed his folder and took a deep breath.   


"I'm afraid I have nothing else except bad news to report," said Mr. Crouch to the group of us around the table, folding his hands. "It seems like the search for Bertha Jorkins is growing cold. She's been gone for over a month now. We're not entirely sure she's still in Albania. Search teams are looking, and we've tried all the magical means we know of, but they're not working." He looked tired suddenly, frustrated, folding his hands in front of him on the tabletop. "I'll keep all of you posted if we hear anything. Please, keep yourselves alert. This is a human life that could be in danger. Keep an ear to the ground and be...and be careful."   


We all left that meeting subdued, and the talk of the day, to which I only listened, was nothing but speculation on where Bertha Jorkins could be, who she could have run into. I had to admire everyone's seriousness regarding the situation. Bertha Jorkins, a somewhat scatterbrained witch who had been transferred from one department to the other for years, had been the lowest member on the department totem pole until I was hired. There was worry in their voices and I thought I caught whispers of "You-Know-Who." They were all scared, but I didn't know enough to really know why. It was office gossip no one would share with me, snatches of words I was lucky to catch as someone stood too close.   


Settling into my new routine at work caused the summer to go by much faster than I expected. The Quidditch World Cup was suddenly a week away. More than a month had passed since Mr. Crouch had hired me, though it felt like I had just started last week. I enjoyed the nature of my work and the new life it gave to my days, from waking with the break of dawn to joining the people in the Ministry entrance hall as they started their mornings. I found that I could time my waking, shower, and departure for work so I very rarely saw Fred and George before I left. I liked them, certainly, but more than that, I liked going to work knowing I wouldn't have to check my robes for a fake wand or exploding candy.   


At the start of the summer, I had loved every second of my job. It was exciting to see how things worked at the Ministry on a day-to-day business. Things were slow to start, but as I understood more and more about my department, I felt pride, a sense of purpose, like I had in my years as a prefect, and later Head Boy, at Hogwarts. As time passed, though, things became a little less pleasant at work. Incidents that didn't seem strange on a small scale added up to something that disturbed me. It seemed like people in the department were reluctant to talk to me if they didn't have to. Quills and ink vanished from my desk. Papers I left unattended would move, or disappear for hours. I knew I was being hazed, tested due to my status as a new employee, but as much as I told myself that the teasing would soon stop, it wasn't much reassurance. Though I grew used to checking my chair and desk before I sat down, I never thought their pranks were funny or clever. I wanted them to stop, but knew better than to complain to Mr. Crouch.   


The worst incident involved the fertilizer sample. Occasionally, our department was sent magical products from foreign countries for testing or approval, and the senior department members usually took the products immediately if it looked like anything of use or interest was in the package. I came back one afternoon from running an errand to the Portkey Office and found a lumpy envelope on my desk, and for a minute I thought my co-workers were being considerate until I realized that the package smelled positively foul.   


"What is _that_?" I asked no one in particular, unable to contain my disgust.   


No one spoke for a moment until Abigail Hitchens started smirking. "Says it's from Norway."   


"What's it doing on my desk?"   


"Weasley, I assumed you knew how to read. It's addressed to you."   


I looked down at the package and sure enough, a label across the front had my name on it. A second label read _Fertilizer Sample_. Who had sent it? "But I don't know anyone in Norway."   


"Weasley, shut up and get that thing the hell out of this office. The smell is about to kill all of us."   


Not needing further instruction, I took the package out of the office and into the hall. Still wondering who could have sent the package, I held my breath and opened it. Shit. Literally. I closed the envelope, nearly gagging, and rushed it to the large trash receptacle at the end of the hall. Who would send me such a thing? I thought back to my meetings in the past few weeks. No one from Norway, and no one who had later complained to Mr. Crouch about anything I said or did. What had I done to warrant this package? Shaken, I went back into the office. This had to be the sickest prank I had ever seen. Even Fred and George were above this.   


Everyone was staring at me.   


"So what was it, Weasley?"   


"Just what it...Just what it said on the package." I thought fast. "I'd, er, completely forgotten about a nice chap I spoke with last week, a man in the, er, gardening industry in Norway. He said he had this great formula for fertilizer, said it could make just about anything grow faster and bigger, and that must be a sample. I don't remember requesting one, but I suppose he thought this might be a good way to get his product marketed here. I'll have to tell him to go through the Department of Magical Horticulture and Gardening next time. Sending us an envelope of fertilizer is certainly not the best way to get in here. Honestly, if he'd asked I'd have..." Everyone had gone back to his work. They probably hadn't heard a word I'd said since the end of my first sentence. Dismayed, I went back to my desk and found that, again, several quills and a bottle of ink were gone. I didn't need this. Not now. I bit my lower lip, said nothing, and headed for the supply closet.   


"Lose something, Weasley?" came Andrews's voice. When I looked toward his desk, his head was down, but he was spinning my best quill back and forth in his fingers.   


"Just getting a fresh quill or two, that's all." My voice hadn't cracked. Good. I buried my head in the closet, making the motions of someone rummaging for the perfect quill, for the exact shade of red ink needed to make corrections. Taking several deep breaths and saying calming, reassuring words to myself, I emerged. No one in the office spoke, but I saw several of them trying to hide a laugh.   


Work was hell.   


From that day on, I stopped inviting members of the department to join me at lunch. I had invited them on a regular basis in the past, but all I got were excuses. Since starting work, any conversation I tried to start that wasn't directly work-related had died within three sentences. I heard them, the way they spoke to me as though I was an imbecile. The way they said my name. It was never "Percy," always "Weasley," and a contemptuous "Weasley" at that. Outwardly, I ignored them and went forward with whatever business I had, but my inner senses couldn't let it go.   


For a while, I could not figure out why they would treat me this badly for so long, but eventually I realized that everything I needed to know was right in front of me. This had to be because of my father and his work, or lack thereof. He worked in an ill-regarded department and always went on about Muggles and cars and things that weren't really important to the work we had to do. It didn't matter that I was an entirely different person than he; they knew about him and his reputation and I was going to take the brunt of their disdain. Though I always smiled and acted pleased to see my father at work, my heart would sink every time he came into the office to say hello, or invite me to lunch. I wanted him to leave me alone, to allow me to establish an identity for myself in the Ministry, but I never quite had the heart to tell him to outright not come by anymore. It was better to be alone, I thought, than have a person supporting me who seemed to do nothing but damage my reputation within the department.   


My evenings weren't much of an improvement over my days. I missed Penelope, and now that I had passed my Apparition test, I didn't have as much to occupy myself in the evenings. I purposely took on more assignments than I could accomplish in a regular workday, so I would have excuses to stay in my quiet room in the evenings and work until I was exhausted. It kept me from thinking or feeling too much, and frankly, that was the way I liked it. Bringing work home with me served the purposes of both showing Mr. Crouch that I was a quick learner and a loyal employee and mostly keeping Fred and George out of my way after dinner.   


True, it wasn't the life I really wanted to live, but as I compiled reports and edited research errors, I told myself that all dues had to be paid. Working on the less interesting yet necessary reports would benefit me in the future. I had to focus or I would end up like Andrews, the man who stole my quills, the man to whom I had to direct all my work questions, who had been in the same job in our department for ten years. When he told me that, I smiled and acted as though I wanted to be exactly where he was in ten years, though secretly I thought that this had to be a man with zero ambition. Everyone in the department was under a constant pile of paperwork, which I didn't really mind, but it was indicative of the need for the department to be staffed by better people. Of course my colleagues had to be qualified, for this was a department that had implications on the entire wizarding world, but too many of them were blind to the important nature of the work. Fine. If they were going to ignore the potential there was in this line of work, it only meant that I could get to the top faster. Unlike them, I had direction. My obedience now would mean that I would be giving them the orders in five to ten years.   


The best bit of advice that Andrews had offered was to keep my eyes open and my mouth shut, though it wasn't always easy to suppress my thoughts. That was definitely not one of my better personality traits, my inability to stop talking when I knew it wasn't good for me. I had become better at it since I started working, but every now and again I would blurt out whatever I was thinking, which didn't always go over well with my coworkers. Before I ever had a chance to correct what I said, I could see their eyes rolling, the tight look on their lips that told me they were trying not to laugh in my face, their sidelong glances at each other. Every now and again, though, when I was internally chastising myself for saying something stupid, Mr. Crouch would smile slightly, or look thoughtful. There was never any way to tell.   


It was fascinating, listening to Mr. Crouch. Were it not for him, I'm not entirely sure I would have stayed in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, regardless of the interesting work that came across my desk. In addition to being one of the most multi-faceted people I had ever met, he was the one person who treated me the same as he treated everyone else in the department. I learned that he spoke over two hundred languages, and he always seemed to have the answer to every question posed by someone in the department. I listened closely to what he had to say, making his knowledge my own. I imitated his speech patterns, that confident manner that never slipped. Though these steps were small, they were important. I had to talk, to let everyone around me know whom I was, but I also had to listen. Listening, however, was frustrating. I could only hear so much at any given time, and for all the time I strained my ears to pick up Mr. Crouch's words, I knew I could never have his knowledge. I wasn't head of the Department. I wasn't...yet...one of the most powerful wizards in the world. I had neither clout nor connections outside of Mr. Crouch. Not being privy to every bit of information that came through the department irritated me. I didn't like having holes in my knowledge or worrying that I would make some statement without all the correct information and have the staff laugh at me even more than they already did.   


Later that morning, Mr. Crouch came out of his office and headed straight for my desk. "Weasley, I need you to go down to the Department of Magical Games and Sports again and talk to them about accommodations for the judges, coaches, and players for the World Cup. Seems like Ludo Bagman is so excited about commenting that he's been practicing pronouncing the names of the Bulgarian players yet forgot to get them a place to sleep that isn't a tent." He stood over me, speaking rapidly. "Where we're going to find any place on this short a notice I'll never know. Maybe local wizarding families will want to host them or...just go! What are you waiting for?"   


"Yes, sir," I replied, pushing my chair away from my desk and collecting the paperwork we had for the World Cup.   


Walking into the Department of Magical Games and Sports, I stopped in my tracks. Oliver Wood, wearing deep green robes and a silver visitor's badge, was standing at the front desk, involved in an animated discussion with a woman I didn't recognize. I stayed where I was, though I was tempted to turn back and return when he was gone. Wood was a part of a past I was trying to leave behind. Just as I reached for the doorknob, though, he spotted me.   


"Weasley! Percy Weasley!" Wood walked over, extending his hand, which I shook. "It's good to see you. Working here now, are you?"   


"Yes. The Department of International Magical Cooperation. Quite interesting work, actually. Bartemius Crouch is a very interesting man, and..." Slow down, Percy "...It suits me."   


"Sounds like it. Just your first step on the ladder, eh? First Head Boy, next Minister of Magic, right?"   


Steps on the ladder. Next Minister of Magic. Penelope. I weakened inside but managed a small smile. "Ah...yes, well, that's quite a ways from now. What are you doing now that we've left school?"   


Wood grinned. "I'm doing what I was always best at: Playing Quidditch."   


"For...the Chudley Cannons?" I asked, pulling up the only team name that came easily.   


"Puddlemere United. I'm just a reserve now, but in a year or so, you'll be seeing me competing in all the league games. After that, maybe the English national team."   


"That'd be exciting. Listen, Wood, I'm sorry, but I came here to-"   


"Weasley! Good to see you, as always." Ludo Bagman came out of the back office. He smiled at Wood, nodding.   


"Hello, Mr. Bagman," I said. "Good to see you, too. If you don't mind, sir, Mr. Crouch needs information on where the players from the international Quidditch teams will be staying and I believe he wants an answer immediately."   


"He couldn't send me a memo? You didn't have to come here, really."   


"I'm just following orders, sir."   


"Yes, I'm sure you are." He didn't look entirely pleased. "Well, let Mr. Crouch know that we have it all taken care of. If he wants the details, I'll be happy to send them to him in a memo. Messages tend to get lost in translation, if you know what I mean."   


I didn't, and at that point, I didn't particularly care. I just wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. "Of course, sir. I'll let him know."   


"Hey, Weasley!" said Wood as I was on my way out the door. I had nearly forgotten he was there. "Why don't we have lunch together?"   


I was thrown off guard by his suggestion, but figured it would be rude to turn him down. "Sure. That sounds good." When I thought about it, I realized that it might be a nice opportunity to share the company of someone who actually wanted to hear what I had to say. "Why don't you just come down to the Department of International Magical Cooperation when you're ready?"   


"I'll see you there."   


Everyone in the department looked at me rather quizzically when Wood came to pick me up, as though they hadn't realized that I knew anyone outside my family, much less had friends. Lunch that day was pleasant enough, with talk of Quidditch, our jobs, spells, and general wizarding world gossip. Even though I had some apprehension about seeing Wood, someone who was pretty far removed from my new life and job, it felt nice to be talking with him, to hear a fresh voice and opinion. I came back to the office and had my first good afternoon since the end of my first week of work. Maybe it was Wood, or maybe it was the fact that I had finally started locking my quills and ink in my desk and protecting them with a Password Charm when I left the office for any reason, but it seemed to pass fairly quickly. Paper by paper, I went through my in-tray, checking forms and sending various memos to the proper departments. No one bothered me, and I made a lot of progress on my latest project.   


For the past few days, I had been working on a report on cauldron-bottom thickness regulation. It was an aspect of international wizarding relations that didn't seem to be important to anyone except me. As it was, I sat at my desk, shutting out the rustling and noises from the rest of the department as I researched and wrote. It was quite a big assignment, one that I hadn't believed they would give to the newest member of the department, but I was honored to have received it and never protested my workload, even when it seemed like I was doing twice the amount of work that everyone else was. My desk would never stay neat for more than the first ten minutes of the day, and on top of my regular department duties I ran a lot of personal errands for Mr. Crouch and the senior staff. Coffee. Quills. Paperwork. I never argued, but I wasn't fond of being the department errand boy either. Thinking of where I could be in two years, I hid my disgust at being asked to do menial tasks and concentrated on watching Mr. Crouch, on making sure that he knew exactly who I was.   


The night before the Quidditch World Cup, I was especially edgy. In addition to having to pick up the slack of so many of my coworkers, I still hadn't finished my cauldron-bottom thickness report. The research I requested on foreign models had just arrived that afternoon, two days later than promised. This project was going to take most of the night to finish, and I was going to be a wreck the following day.   


Bill and Charlie had arrived on Saturday, and I was happy to see them, but I felt bad because I couldn't spend as much time with them as I would have liked. "This report," I explained. "It's keeping me very busy, but at the same time it's quite exciting. I know not many people think cauldrons are that interesting, but they are essential to the operation of much of the wizarding world. Foreign models often aren't up to our standards, and stronger potions or worse, accidents, can cause meltdowns, eventually costing everyone extra money and possibly causing bodily harm."   


"Fascinating, Percy, really," said Bill, barely looking up from his _Daily Prophet_. "Very important aspect of wizarding, that is." I shook my head, reminding myself that not everyone had the interest in international wizarding relations that I did, though I thought Bill would at least have some eye for what I was doing considering his work for Gringotts.   


I was in my room when I heard a bang and laughter from the kitchen downstairs. Checking my watch, I realized that it must be Fred, George, Ron, and Dad with Harry Potter. Ron's friend Hermione, who I secretly liked quite a bit for her straightforward, mature nature, had arrived while I was at work this afternoon. There was no need to rush downstairs to meet them. They'd come up the stairs soon enough. This report required my attention right now. Those late papers, combined with the Quidditch World Cup, were really wreaking havoc on my deadline. I came out for a moment to say hello to Harry and answer his questions about my work, and Ron, clearly not understanding the importance of cauldron regulation, started making disparaging remarks. After I slammed the door, I told myself that he was probably just trying to act big in front of his friends, but I couldn't shake the irritation. The noise of my family was grating on my nerves, and for the first time I wished I had an entire apartment to myself, some place where I could measure every ounce of noise.   


Dinner that night proved interesting, as I was, for once, able to tell my father things he didn't know about the Ministry. It was strange being in that position, the one with knowledge, but I liked it. It was about time my family started seeing that I was an adult now, and I was on the way up in my career. Everything seemed to go well until the end of the meal, when Fred and George found it necessary to mention that sample of fertilizer. In that instant, I was sorry I had ever mentioned it. I hadn't thought they were listening at the time I relayed the story to my father, acting as though it was all a big mix-up, just a misunderstanding between myself and the horticulture expert from Norway. I didn't need to hear their reminder, like driving the tip of my quill into a sore. My sense of panic beat my sense of humor to my voice, and my protest came heated as I felt my face turn red. I had let them get the best of me again. I couldn't allow that to happen.   


That night, surrounded by those who had known me since I was born, I was completely alone. No one here ever cared to listen to what I had to say. Though they loved me in the way that family members are bound to love each other, there was no place for me here, no one who shared my thoughts. Absently turning my wineglass back and forth by the stem, I watched each of them in turn. Without me, they each gravitated into pairs. Bill and Charlie. Fred and George. Ron and Ginny. Mother and Father. And I sat, the seventh one, whose opinions differed and whose goals were misunderstood.   


Tuning out my family's voices, I thought on this situation.   


And thought again.   


  



	3. Chapter 3

Work on Tuesday morning was a welcome relief from the chaos of Monday's Quidditch World Cup. I accompanied my father on his early trip to the Ministry, cauldron-bottom thickness report completed and in hand, but was surprised to find that I arrived before Mr. Crouch. I figured the mayhem surrounding last night, coupled with the article in this morning's _Daily Prophet_, would have him in the office before any of the staff, but I was mistaken. In fact, Mr. Crouch didn't show up until nearly mid-afternoon. I found this disconcerting, especially in light of his never showing up for the game once he made his brief appearance in the Top Box, but rationalized that it probably had something to do with the need for damage control after last night's Dark Mark debacle. In the meantime, I sat at my desk and listened to my coworkers rehash the events of yesterday.   


"You don't really think You-Know-Who is back, do you?" asked Hitchens, sipping her coffee and sitting on one corner of her desk. "I mean, you think he'd have done a lot worse than turn a few Muggles upside-down and flash the Dark Mark. No one there died or anything...did they? Seems an odd show to put on for nothing."   


"I hardly think it was for nothing, Abby," interjected Philip Greengrass, who hadn't been in the department much longer than I but who was well liked and respected. "He's still got followers, I'm sure. Those people in masks...they wouldn't have bothered if they weren't afraid of their identities being known. They've got something to hide, and they're still scared of being found out. One of them had to have conjured the Dark Mark."   


"I heard it was Harry Potter," said Andrews.   


"It wasn't."   


Everyone turned to look at me, as though surprised I could talk. I seized the opportunity of their silence and spoke as fast as I could. "It wasn't Harry Potter. I know him fairly well. He's a good friend of my brother's, and I heard a lot when they all got back to our tents. Harry went to the Cup with my family, and he told us...my father was there, and he told us how it all happened." As I spoke, Andrews's eyes grew wide, but I didn't know if it was from finding out that it wasn't Harry Potter who cast the Dark Mark or my audacity at openly, loudly, contradicting him.   


"Do you plan to tell us who it was, then, or do you just like to keep us in suspense?" inquired Hitchens, glaring at me over the rim of her cup.   


"It was Mr. Crouch's house-elf. Winky, her name was."   


Greengrass smiled crookedly. "That's a good one, Weasley. And I hear house-elves are now issued wands with their tea towels or pillowcases or whatever else they wear." This caused Hitchens to snort into her coffee, and a few other people looked at each other sideways, trying not to laugh.   


"I'm serious, Greengrass." I straightened in my chair, looking him in the eye. "They found her in a clearing, unconscious and holding Harry Potter's wand." I nodded to reinforce my statement. "It may sound strange, but my father was there and he told me everything. Winky denied having anything to do with the Dark Mark or You-Know-Who, but really, what else would you expect? She insisted that it wasn't her, as though it had been some other wizard who stole Harry's wand. You see, this is why we need all those regulations about non-human creatures and why they're not issued wands! No one would have suspected Mr. Crouch's elf of dealing in the Dark Arts, but the evidence speaks for itself."   


By this time they all looked rather unsettled, but they had to hear the truth no matter how uncomfortable it might make them. "I didn't see it, of course, but plenty of people did, including a lot of people who work here at the Ministry. Anyone you talk to will corroborate my story. Someone ran into me in the confusion when the Dark Mark was in the sky, and I had to fumble my way back to our tent with a bloody nose. But when my father came back with Harry, my brother Ron, and a friend of theirs, he told us everything."   


They all stared at me in disbelief. "You're making this up, right, Weasley?" asked Greengrass, a little nervous.   


"Am I in the habit of fabricating stories?" I shot back, and Greengrass raised an eyebrow. "It was Mr. Crouch's house-elf, Winky. She stole Harry Potter's wand when she was in the Top Box with us and conjured the Dark Mark. Ron told me that they even checked the wand via _Prior Incantatem_ to make sure that she was the one. You can, of course, imagine how Mr. Crouch reacted to finding out such a horrible thing. He fired her for the infraction, and I think he was right to do so. She broke at least three major Ministry rules by doing what she did, including possessing Harry's wand, and Mr. Crouch could simply not have that." I was doing it again, running my mouth, but I couldn't stop. They needed to hear everything, since they were all apparently ignorant about a major event that could cost this department its reputation. "We all know how much prestige he carries in the Ministry and in the international wizarding confederacies, and having a house-elf aligned with You-Know-Who would bring him down so fast he'd be lucky to get a position on the Broom Regulatory Council. He can't afford that and neither can we. If his job is on the line, so are ours. And did you all see the _Daily Prophet_ this morning?" I was absolutely infuriated by Rita Skeeter's article, such an insult to the Ministry on top of everything else that had gone wrong.   


"Yes, Weasley, and we all remember every single word of every single article we read," said Hitchens flatly.   


I shook my head. "Well, if you're not reading the papers, you should be, especially anything that's written by that horrible Rita Skeeter. You all know how she'll say anything to make the Ministry look as bad as possible, in spite of whether it's the truth. In fact, it seems to me like she'd rather not have the truth, because then she gets to say whatever she wants about the Ministry and there's no evidence either way. She printed an article this morning, which, among other libelous claims, insinuated that bodies were removed from the woods near the campgrounds. Bodies! That woman will stop at nothing to hurt this department, and if you had any sense of loyalty to Mr. Crouch, or a sense of duty to your job, you'd make every effort to familiarize yourself with the lies she tells so that you can tell everyone else the truth!"   


No one had much to say after that. Greengrass looked up at the clock and mumbled something about how we should get the day started, as it was nearly nine o'clock.   


The minute the clock struck nine, owls came flying right and left through our front door, and they didn't let up for a week. By Friday, I felt like I had lived the same day five times over, doing nothing except answering angry letters from people who had complaints with the proceedings and security at the Cup. Ridiculous allegations, one right after the other, flooded my in-tray. My ears rang from the number of Howlers we received. None of us had a moment to rest, and everyone worked shifts of twelve hours or more to control the volume of mail. I ate my lunch at my desk because I couldn't afford to be away for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time. Once, I was delayed at the Department of Magical Games and Sports for nearly half an hour as Ludo Bagman sent someone to find the papers I needed to bring to Mr. Crouch. When I returned to my office, my desk was on fire, probably due to a Howler that I hadn't had the opportunity to open.   


Furious, but by this time, no longer surprised, that no one had made a move to put out the fire, I extinguished it with a jet of water from my wand. That, of course, destroyed seventy-five percent of the papers I had been working on, so I had to stay at the office until nearly ten that evening getting new copies of books, papers, and reports. I skipped dinner, came home, and fell asleep within a minute of crawling into bed. Though I wanted to go to King's Cross with the twins, Ron, and Ginny on September first to see them off on the Hogwarts Express, I couldn't take the time off work.   


The flurry of hate mail ceased after about three weeks, and I got back to my regular schedule of coming home around five o'clock, taking extra work to my room, and working in the evenings. The house was much quieter now that Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny were back at Hogwarts, but even though I liked the silence that enabled me to work, I was lonely. Some of the loneliness I staved off with paperwork, telling myself that I didn't have much time to go out with friends as it was, but there were times when I ached for companionship, even just one person to spend time with and talk to. Mother and Father weren't enough anymore, the way they had been when I was younger. We seemed to argue about everything, and as the only child at home I was always the focus of their attention whether I wanted to be or not.   


"Percy, your mother and I wanted to go over to the Lovegoods' tonight, just to say hello. You know he gets lonely when he's not traveling, with his wife gone and Luna at Hogwarts most of the year. Would you like to come?"   


"Ah...no thank you. I...have a lot of work to do this evening. Still catching up on everything I had to put aside after the World Cup."   


"We were really hoping you'd come with us, Percy. You've been so..." My mother looked as though she was searching for the right word.   


"Busy?" I supplied.   


"That's not quite what I had in mind. We know you're busy. Your father's not had an easy time at work lately either, but, well, you spend all your spare time in your room--"   


"Because I have work to do," I snapped. "I've got a long way to go before I'm in the position I want at the Ministry, and these early years are very important. If it means sacrificing a little time now to accomplish more in the future, then that's the way it has to be."   


"Don't take that tone of voice with us, young man," said my mother sternly. "We're very aware of what you want to do, and we fully support you, but you've been nothing but depressed and moody lately and we're tired of it."   


My jaw dropped. How was I supposed to respond to that? How dare they say anything when I worked so hard? I slammed my fork down on the table, most of the food on my plate untouched, and ran upstairs. For days afterward, conversation with my parents was strained. Even when our actions returned to normal, there was an underlying tension, a thread of courtesy that formed itself into a noose.  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


One Monday morning in mid-October, Mr. Crouch called me into his private office.   


"Weatherby, may I speak to you for a moment?"   


"Weasley," I corrected, under my breath. From what I understood, there was a Weatherby who worked in the department but left last April. This was not the first time Mr. Crouch had made this mistake, but it disturbed me that as of late, he never bothered to correct himself. I had long since given up trying to tell him that my name was Weasley, especially since he'd been under a lot of stress since the World Cup. It was enough, I figured, that he spoke to me and called me a consistent if not correct name. "What is it, sir?"   


"Have a seat," he said to me, closing the door. This couldn't be good. Usually, Mr. Crouch didn't call newer department members in for private conferences unless he had plans to fire them. My knees started shaking, and I walked as quickly as I could to the chair, sitting before I could collapse.   


"Weatherby, I want to ask for your assistance."   


"My...assistance, sir?" Hearing his request, I allowed myself to breathe again.   


"Yes. Before I discuss the matter further with you, though, I must ask for your confidentiality. By accepting this task, you are agreeing to discuss this matter with no one unless I approve of you doing so. You are not to answer questions from anyone else in this department or the Ministry about the nature of your work. I promise that I will not ask you to do anything illegal, and if you feel uncomfortable with my requests, you are welcome to refuse, but I still ask that you not talk about any of the work. Can I trust you to keep secret what I'm about to ask of you?" His voice was more authoritative than I'd heard in a long time. I wasn't sure whether to be impressed or afraid. Since the World Cup, Mr. Crouch had moments where his speech halted and he seemed lost in the middle of a sentence. Now, however, he appeared to know exactly what he was saying.   


"You can, sir." I figured there was no harm in showing him that I was trustworthy even before he set the task in front of me.   


"Weatherby, the first thing you should know is that this is more a matter of...personal interest than one of the Ministry's, though it does concern some Ministry affairs. I will grant you paid time and overtime, if necessary, to complete this project, and should you choose to apply for a higher position in the Ministry when you have gained the experience, I will write a reference for you. Does that sound fair?"   


"Yes, sir." Now I was curious. I realized that as much as I knew about Mr. Crouch's daily operations in the office, I barely knew anything besides what he chose to reveal to the department. What personal mission could be so important?   


"Good. Somehow I knew you would be the right one to ask. Later today, I will give you a list of names. I need you to go to the Department of Records and retrieve the files on each of the people whose names I'm going to give you. Each of those files needs to be thoroughly reviewed, checked to make sure none of the contents are missing, and summarized. Recent events have warranted a re-read of these files, and it is imperative that they are all thorough and accurate. I have seen your work and know that you are capable of performing this job. Will you accept it?"   


I watched Mr. Crouch across the table for a moment. His expression was serious but not grave, more determined. As a well-respected and high-ranking Ministry official, recommendations from him were worth their weight in gold. There was no good reason not to take this job, and I was thrilled he had chosen me above everyone else to carry it out. "I will, sir. When would you like for me to begin?"   


"This afternoon. I will compile the list of files you need to retrieve, and you can start after lunch. No one outside of a select few can know what you are doing, and it may become necessary to cover your paperwork if someone becomes too inquisitive. There may also be further instruction from me, depending on...well, a lot of factors, which I don't need to expand on just yet. Do you have any other questions?"   


"No, sir."   


"Thank you for your time, Weatherby. I will give you that list this afternoon. In the meantime, go about your usual business. See if Greengrass needs a hand with the...with his project."   


"Ah...yes, sir."   


He dismissed me with a wave of his hand.   


More confused than I had been since my first day at the job, I rose from my chair, silently collecting my papers. Several people looked up as I entered the main office, quill and folders tucked under one arm. I walked as casually as I could back to my desk and took the day's correspondence from my in-tray, looking down at a letter.   


"You still work here, Weasley...or is it Weatherby?" whispered Andrews in a rather nasty tone.   


"I do, Andrews, and will until further notice," I responded, my eyes on the paper. Do you?"   


He didn't react but for a completely blank look on his face, and I continued in a tone just as low and mean as his. "You see, unlike some, Mr. Crouch recognizes that I do outstanding rather than slipshod work." Deliberately, I raised my head, and spoke so softly that Andrews had to lean in to hear me. "Not that you would know anything about the latter, of course, because you always meet every single one of your deadlines and never try to pass your menial assignments onto younger members of the department. Never." Mr. Crouch's assignment had strengthened me. It didn't matter what any of them thought. I had made an impression on the one who truly mattered to my career. Silently, Andrews left my desk, not looking my way as he sat and began to sift through his papers.   


When I came back from lunch that afternoon, a sealed envelope with my name on it was in my in-tray. This had to be from Mr. Crouch. Glancing around to see if anyone was looking my way, I opened the envelope. On a plain piece of parchment, one that would be indistinguishable from anything else on my desk but for the fact that it was in Mr. Crouch's handwriting, was a list of names. There was no signature on the paper. I unfolded it and slowly began to read.  


_All records 1970-1981  
_

Avery, John  
Bagman, Ludovic  
Black, Sirius  
Dolohov, Antonin  
Karkaroff, Ivan  
Lestrange, Bellatrix (neé_ Black)  
Lestrange, Rodolphus  
Malfoy, Lucius  
Rookwood, Augustus  
Travers, Wesley  
Mulciber, Ferrus  
Snape, Severus  
_   


1970-1981. 1981...that was best known as the year Lord Voldemort had fallen, and 1970...that would correspond with his rise to power. Interesting. Reading slowly a second time through the list, I took inventory of the names.   


_ Avery, John_   


I had no idea who he was.   


_ Bagman, Ludovic  
Black, Sirius_   


Those two names I recognized, but I was very surprised to see Bagman's name in conjunction with Sirius Black's. True, Bagman wasn't, as I'd heard Greengrass say, the shiniest Galleon in Gringotts, but I couldn't see him participating in any sort of activity that would link him with Sirius Black, a known, dangerous convict.   


_ Dolohov, Antonin  
Karkaroff, Ivan_   


Antonin Dolohov was another one I had never heard, but Ivan Karkaroff-he was now head of the Durmstrang Institute. I'd never seen him in person, but knew that Mr. Crouch did not favor him and in fact looked as though he'd eaten something sour every time Karkaroff's name was mentioned.   


_ Lestrange, Bellatrix (_neé_ Black)  
Lestrange, Rodolphus_   


A married couple. Bellatrix Lestrange's maiden name was marked. Black. That was interesting. I wondered if she was related to Sirius Black. A sister, perhaps? Cousin? Black wasn't an uncommon surname, but I remembered something my father and mother mentioned once when I'd asked about their families, something about the Black line being very old and very large, even linked to our family by marriage. At this realization, my heart sped up. I was related to at least one convicted criminal, and possibly three. For a moment I considered giving the list back to Mr. Crouch, but I knew I couldn't. Even though my assignment was only to do a read and review of the files, my curiosity had to be satiated.   


_Malfoy, Lucius_   


Here, I paused, studying the fine line of script on the page. Lucius Malfoy. Sirius Black. Bellatrix Lestrange, _neé_ Black. All...Death Eaters? It would certainly fit with the dates, and even more so if Bellatrix Lestrange was related to Sirius Black. Malfoy and Black most definitely had connections to Lord Voldemort. However, Ludovic Bagman struck me as the last person I'd finger as a Death Eater. And what about the names I didn't know? As I thought more, I questioned how much I really knew about Lucius Malfoy. He and my father shared an unpleasant history, and his son, Draco, was a thorn in Ron's side, but I'd never spoken to him in person.   


_Mulciber, Ferrus  
Rookwood, Augustus  
Travers, Wesley_   


Three more names I didn't recognize.   


_Snape, Severus_   


That gave me pause. If the previous names were all linked by virtue of having connections to Lord Voldemort, why was Snape's name on there? Dumbledore would never give a job to a known Death Eater...unless Snape _was_ a Death Eater and was able to hide it from Dumbledore. That didn't seem logical, though. Dumbledore had an uncanny way of knowing the truth about everyone. It was true that Snape wasn't the most personable of teachers, but he was talented and knowledgeable and I had come to respect him a great deal while taking his N.E.W.T. level Potions class. This was becoming more intriguing by the minute.   


I took a new file folder from the supply in my bottom desk drawer and stuck the piece of parchment into it, as well as a second sheet with Mr. Crouch's signature embossed at the bottom that turned out to be a form authorizing me to take the files out of the Department of Records. Rising from my desk, I knocked carefully on Mr. Crouch's office door.   


"Enter! Ah...yes...Weatherby."   


"Weasley, sir," I replied, but it was more a quiet reflex than an actual attempt to make him remember my name.   


"I take it you received my correspondence."   


"Yes, sir."   


"Very well then. You have your assignment."   


"I'll be back later this afternoon, sir."   


"Yes, of course, Weatherby, just..." He looked as though he'd forgotten again where he was and what he was doing in the middle of his sentence. "You know what to do. I'll be in my office."   


I left and headed for the lifts, taking them to the basement, which housed the Department of Records. Not much was down here. In fact, it seemed like whoever designed the Ministry building had a grudge against the department head. It was dark and damp, lit by a few wall sconces. Rather than wood, the floor was ceramic tile. I shivered for a moment as I followed the signs to the department.   


When I knocked on the door, no one answered, so I pushed it open.   


The sight that met my eyes was nothing short of astonishing. Unlike the rest of the basement, this room was clean, airy, bright, and enormous. Filing cabinets were stacked floor to ceiling, and the wide aisles between them housed long tables with candles, perfect for an afternoon of research. The place was a labyrinth of information.   


"Hello? Anyone here?" There was no way I was going to find anything here on my own. I wandered past the empty entrance desk, down a few of the aisles, to the back of the room.   


"Can I help you?"   


I jumped as I heard a voice behind me. It belonged to a young witch with short, brown curly hair. She smiled at me as I spun around. "Oh! I'm sorry to have scared you. You just looked like you could use a hand."   


Hands. Right. I held mine out to shake hers. "Percy Weasley, Department of International Magical Cooperation."   


She smiled. "Eileen Leary, Department of Records. Sorry if you didn't get any help earlier, but we have two catalogers out sick and things around here have been a little crazy. What are you looking for?"   


I opened my folder. "I need some files."   


"What kind of files? Vital records? Birth? Criminal? Financial?" She took a small pad and a quill off her desk, preparing to take notes.   


"It just says 'All Records, 1970 to 1981.'"   


"Sure. Do you have an authorization?"   


"What? Oh, yes." I pulled the second piece of parchment from my folder and handed it to her. She studied it and placed it on a nearby desk.   


After I gave her the list of names, she scanned it. "This is going to take a few minutes. We're looking at thirty files or more. Does Mr. Crouch mind if you stay for a bit? I could use a hand with the files."   


"He should be fine with it, madam. He's expecting me to be out for at least part of the afternoon, I believe."   


She smiled. "All right. Follow me, Mr. Weasley."   


I was astonished by her ability to find and retrieve the records so quickly. Within half an hour, a table was covered with heavy files. Had I tried that myself, I'd have easily spent the entirety of the afternoon searching for what I needed. Carrying any more files than three at a time was impossible, but that would mean ten or more trips up and down the lifts.   


"I'll have them sent to you. Will that work? It won't take very long."   


"Yes, Miss Leary. Thank you. I appreciate your help. And...er...if it's not too much trouble, could you destroy the paper you wrote those names on?"   


"It's no trouble at all," she replied, tearing the paper into small squares. "And feel free to call me Eileen. Just send me a memo if you find you need additional files."   


"Thank you...Eileen. Have a good afternoon."   


"You too."   


The materials from the Department of Records arrived not long after I got back to my desk. Figuring I would tackle the longest files first, I pulled the three thickest folders into the middle of my desk and spread them into a fan.   


_ Black, Sirius   
_

Malfoy, Lucius   


Snape, Severus   


I spent the rest of the afternoon looking through Sirius Black's file, periodically taking breaks to keep up on department correspondence. The information, though a little dry in places, was quite interesting. It contained documents on his birth, his family, even records from Hogwarts. This was going to be a huge project, and I barely knew where to begin. If any of the files seemed to be missing important information in relation to the link, I needed to find it. I made a checklist of everything that a file should contain. Each file needed to be equal in the way of birth, death, family, and completed education records, and from there I would have to add on anything financial, criminal, civil...the list never seemed to end. Paging through the files, though, I found that I had three questions unrelated to Mr. Crouch's assignment for every one that was. I started a second page of notes, furtively looking up to make sure he wasn't looking at what I was doing.   


Time passed quickly as I paged through the folders, and I checked my watch when I realized that much of the natural light in the office had faded. It was nearly six-thirty, and I was the only one still in the office besides Mr. Crouch. I closed Black's file, as well as Snape's, but wanted to take one final look at the remaining file.   


_Malfoy, Lucius_   


I started reading, slowly turning the pages and scanning the information. Financial records showed he made more in a year than I did in four. A marriage certificate. Narcissa Black. That piqued my interest, and I noted on a separate sheet to check for any relation between Sirius Black, Narcissa Black, now Malfoy, and Bellatrix Black, now Lestrange. It wouldn't surprise me if they were related in some way, especially since the Malfoys were known for being another old wizarding family. I paused at a court record dated the twelfth of January, 1982.   


_...In a vote of four to one, Malfoy was exonerated of all charges related to his alleged involvement with Lord Voldemort..._   


I had known this for years, of course, but for all that my father said it might as well have never happened. At my house, it was practically a requirement to spit every time Lucius Malfoy was mentioned. According to my father, he was an insult to wizards everywhere, buying his way out of prison and hiding Dark artifacts in every spare corner of his house. I never spoke against my father, not really knowing for myself what Lucius Malfoy was like, but in my time alone I wondered why my father had such a vendetta. I knew they'd been in at least one physical fight, and who knew what transpired between them on the nights my father made raids on Malfoy's house?   


My mind was wandering, and I shook my head as thought to clear it. I needed food. It was time to leave. I started collating and alphabetizing the files, preparing to put them in my desk, when the door to the department opened.   


As though he knew I had his file in my hand, Lucius Malfoy entered the office. My heart rate nearly doubled at the sight of him, and I tried to stand, greet him, hide his file, and clean up my desk all at once. Instead of doing any of those things, I accidentally dropped the folder. Papers spilled everywhere. When I reached under the desk to retrieve some of them, I hit my head trying to sit up. Swearing under my breath, I collected the papers and stuffed them back into the folder as quickly as I could. It was going to take me the better part of tomorrow to get everything in order again. By the time I looked up, he was no longer standing in the doorway. Calmer now that he was gone, I finished clearing my desk except for a few departmental papers and a spare bottle of red ink.   


On his way out of Mr. Crouch's office just moments after I had placed the last piece of parchment in my to-do box, Mr. Malfoy paused for a moment and looked in my direction. Though he said nothing, I knew he was studying me, everything from the ink stains on my hands to the end-of-day disarray of my hair. If he had spoken, I knew he would say the same sneering "Weasley" my coworkers did. Regardless of that, and regardless of the appearance of his name on a list I was pretty sure contained the names of people with connections to Lord Voldemort, he was an important associate of Mr. Crouch's and had to be treated with respect.   


I opened my mouth to greet him, but no sound came out. The only thing that broke our silence was the sound my inkbottle made as it hit the floor when, in an attempt to stand, I sent it flying sideways. 


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of October passed with nothing out of the ordinary happening at the office, except for Mr. Crouch entering about once or twice a week looking tired and drawn, as though he hadn't slept the night before. I made sure to take care with him those days, staying out of his way and making sure he had tea in the morning. Those days, he stayed in his private office, coming out only to sign papers or make appearances at interdepartmental meetings.

On November first, Mr. Crouch called us all into an emergency department meeting. I was surprised to see him there, as I thought he would be at Hogwarts at least until the end of the day today to discuss the results of the drawing of names from the Goblet of Fire. Gathering coffee, quills, and parchment, we gathered around the long table in the staff room. It was nine-thirty in the morning, and small particles of dust swirled in the sunlight coming through the row of windows to the east.

"We have a problem, ladies and gentlemen. Harry Potter's name came out of the Goblet of Fire last night."

"What does that mean?" asked Ben Carver, who only half participated in any discussion we had.

"He's underage," I replied automatically.

"He's not only underage," confirmed Mr. Crouch, "but Hogwarts is only supposed to have one champion. Dumbledore told me that another boy," he checked the letter in his hand, "Cedric Diggory, is supposed to be Hogwarts champion. Diggory is of age, so in theory he should have been the only one from Hogwarts whose name came out of the Goblet of Fire. Dumbledore doesn't know how it happened, and neither does anyone else at Hogwarts. The staff is investigating. Meanwhile, this department is going to have trouble.

"Dumbledore has already expressed to me the displeasure felt by Olympe Maxime and Igor Karkaroff, the heads of Beaubaxtons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute, respectively. They say that if Hogwarts gets two champions, they should, too, regardless of the fact that no one is sure why Harry Potter's name came out of the Goblet of Fire. Right now there's no evidence one way or the other as to whether or not Potter's name was in there by choice."

This made me pause and draw breath for a protest, but I didn't think it was entirely appropriate for me to interrupt my superior while he spoke. Harry Potter did have somewhat of a reputation at Hogwarts as being a show-off, but that was mostly among the Slytherins and those who had no glory of their own and no pride in their accomplishments. Potter was a star on the Quidditch field and of course an important name in wizarding history, but I also knew he'd faced a lot of hardships in his years at Hogwarts. Of course, I didn't know him that well personally, so for all I knew, he had put his own name in the Goblet of Fire, maybe to gain recognition for something that didn't have anything to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"Potter is protesting the Goblet of Fire's decision, but there's nothing that can be done about that. As a chosen champion, he must complete the tasks. The discord in international wizarding relations is already there. This event is going to be heavily covered by the Daily Prophet, and witches and wizards everywhere are going to learn that Hogwarts has a distinct advantage in the tournament whether or not they chose it. Since we are responsible for maintaining strong international cooperation, we are going to have to stay in regular contact with Dumbledore and try to do as much damage control as possible.

"This is going to take work by every one of you in this department. There will be owls to answer and probably more than one late night spent here. Do not speak to anyone at the Daily Prophet yet. Field all those inquiries to me. Greengrass, I want you to act as the coordinator on this project. You'll be responsible for tracking all the communication that goes in and out of this office…"

By that time, I was only half listening to Mr. Crouch, idly doodling in the margins of my parchment. I knew things were bound to get hectic again, and that I would be buried under work, and Greengrass would get all the credit for my late nights. I didn't mind the work, because it might lead to a chance for me to get to Hogwarts and see part of the tournament, but I did want the recognition for what I did.

The rest of the meeting went fairly quickly, and at the end I gathered my things and stood to follow everyone out of the room. Mr. Crouch remained sitting at the long meeting table.

"Weatherby," he called, beckoning me to him. I closed the door, placing my folders and quill down on the table as I sat. He leaned forward, glanced up at the door, and asked, "How is that report coming?"

"Everything is fine, sir. I'm going through the files and forming tables of the information you asked for, and as long as I'm here, is there anything else you need me to cross-reference?"

"Anything else as in..." He pressed his fingertips together and narrowed his brow. He sounded like he was suspicious of me, which made me think for a second that there really was something in these files I wasn't supposed to uncover. That, of course, made me all the more curious.

I lowered my voice. "I'm finding quite a few connections between the people you asked about. Many had connections to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and some, I believe, are related." As I spoke, I realized I had phrased this just right. I gave my secret research a legitimate front, so in case I was discovered in the course of mining this information, I could justify it as going above and beyond the call of duty.

Mr. Crouch looked alarmed. "No! I mean, really, Weatherby, that's not necessary. Just complete your task. I...ah...appreciate your efforts, and they will be noted, but for now, please do only what I ask of you."

"Yes, sir," I replied, though I felt slightly deflated. His approval of my idea would have given me the chance to add a dimension to my work, to perform this task to a degree that would gain me recognition as a strong worker and at the same time satisfy some of my personal curiosities regarding the files. He didn't say anything else, but waved his hand to dismiss me. On my way back to my desk, I consoled myself with the fact that I was no worse off than before. I would just have to hide any work I did on my own, the way I had been doing.

As the week went on, I nearly forgot about my curiosity in the files Mr. Crouch had me retrieve from the Department of Records. Greengrass, to my surprise and pleasure, asked that I serve as his second on all communications regarding the Triwizard Tournament. This turned out to be a huge time commitment, and as I had over the summer, I brought my work home with me and stayed late at the office. I saw very little of my parents, which, at this point, was fine with me. Lately, I felt like I couldn't express my opinions without engaging in a two to one battle over the subject at hand.

What I needed, I mused as I sat at the desk in my bedroom, was someone who would listen, yet challenge me. A mentor. Someone skilled in wide range of magical arts and theory. Someone with life experience, who would recognize my need to learn and use powerful magic to rise through the ranks of the Ministry. Of course, my chances of finding anyone at this point, when I needed it the most, were slim to none. I had no idea who would even be qualified outside of Mr. Crouch, and it wasn't as though I could take out an advertisement in the Daily Prophet.

Greengrass and Mr. Crouch both reported sick on Monday morning, and as a result things were a little lax around the office. I took advantage of the fact that everyone was ignoring me and spread the files from the Department of Records over my desk, searching through the familiar pages for information I might have missed.

_Malfoy, Lucius_

Every time I picked up his folder, I winced in memory of the time I had made a fool of myself in front of him. Flipping through his papers, I questioned myself as to what it was that intimidated me about him. It was his physical presence, no doubt, and the fact that he was so formidable with his solid, confident walk, his head always held high. He was highly intelligent, too, judging from the evidence I had. His file showed several magical licenses, some for very high-level spells. If he'd been suspected of being a Death Eater, that meant the Wizengamot believed him capable of performing the Unforgivable Curses, which were known for being difficult to learn. He was a man rich in culture as well as money, who always knew the right words and gestures for every occasion. He was...

...the man I wanted to be.

If any member of my family heard that, I'd be disowned without question. I felt an odd sense of vertigo and put my hands on my desk for support. The everyday noise of the office faded around me as I sank deeper into my thoughts. My desk fell out of focus and my morning coffee felt like it had gone straight to my head. This couldn't be right. The idea that I wanted to be anything like Lucius Malfoy went against everything I'd ever learned and heard. My father never had a good word to say about him, and I was sure that conversation around the Malfoy dinner table didn't exactly consist of, "I had the most pleasant discussion with Arthur Weasley today." But for everything I'd been told over the years about his nature as a Dark wizard, I couldn't deny my realization, that through everything my father said, the facts about Lucius Malfoy: the money, the skill, and the poise and grace, were irrefutable. The Department of Records didn't lie, nor did my memory.

I was not disposed toward rash behavior. If that were the case, I'd have risen from my desk, run to hunt him down, and forced him somehow to make me into someone he would be proud to call an associate, a man refined, respected, and rich. The more I thought, the more I realized that he could very well be the key to my moving up through the Ministry. He was someone who understood how these things worked, who was known and respected by almost everyone in power at the Ministry. A chance to speak with him was a chance to further not just my career, but also my status in life.

Lucius Malfoy occupied my thoughts for the rest of the afternoon. His image, tall and proud, dressed in heavy black robes, haunted me. I ate lunch alone and only finished half my sandwich, pondering the best and worst things that could happen if I decided to approach him. The worst, I figured, was that he would ignore me completely, not listen to a word I said because of the fact that I was a Weasley. No. The worst that could happen was public humiliation, being cut down verbally in front of my superiors or my co-workers by someone who intrigued, even fascinated me. As I played the scene in my head, of the two of us standing in a crowded hallway with a half-circle of Ministry workers watching, I felt my cheeks grow hot. This was much more likely to happen than I wanted to admit, and I had to be able to counter it somehow. The best-case scenario, that he would accept me immediately and take me under his wing without question, was improbable. I had too much to overcome for that to occur. If I wanted him to talk to me, I had to strike just the right balance of professionalism and interest, but I couldn't sound too desperate, or like I knew more than he did. I could make a meeting work. I had to. There was no way I was going to have peace until I at least made the effort to talk to him. It was just going to take a little time to formulate.

For two days I barely slept. I made sure to keep on top of all office business, because falling behind in my work would do nothing but damage what little good reputation I might have. My spare time was consumed with thoughts of meetings and dinners and the possibility of discussions in which I felt welcome.

My father, of all people, was the one who presented me with the perfect opportunity to approach Lucius Malfoy. His name was mentioned at the dinner table, because my father was scheduled to raid the Malfoy estate on Thursday evening. That meant Mr. Malfoy would have to make a court appearance next week, most likely on Tuesday. It would be the perfect time to approach him, especially since through my research I had drawn my own conclusions of his innocence. I could use my discoveries as a starter to our conversation. The flaw in this was that I wasn't supposed to talk about my findings with anyone outside Mr. Crouch, but I didn't think Mr. Malfoy would really be one to talk, anyway.

These thoughts distracted me during dinner. I barely said a word as my parents talked through the meal. Once or twice I considered defending Mr. Malfoy from their gossip, but that would have meant revealing more than I was supposed to about the work I was doing for Mr. Crouch. There was also the fact that I didn't want to cause any more strife than I already had with my parents.

"Percy, is something wrong?" asked my mother.

When I heard my name, I looked up from my dinner. "Pardon me?"

"You're quiet tonight, and you've barely touched your food. Is everything all right?" She set her silverware down and peered at me over her potatoes.

"I'm fine, fine," I reassured her. "Just...thinking."

"Anything we can help with?"

"I...don't need help. Really, it's fine."

"Well, if you want to-"

"I'm fine, Mother, thank you."

An uneasy silence settled over the three of us, and my mother and father spoke only to each other for the rest of the meal. After dinner, I went to my room and sat at my desk. I lit no candles but pulled back the curtains that cloaked the window. The land outside was dry and barren, glowing in the moonlight. Sitting in my desk chair, I let my thoughts wander.

I knew Lucius Malfoy was on top of his organization, a group of influential wizards whom my father sometimes spoke about with a note of loathing in his tone. My father said they were Dark, bigoted, supporters of a wizarding world where blood was pure and Muggles were playthings. For years I listened, but I didn't start to question what he said until now. It was more than just the attitude regarding Muggles and wizarding blood. This entrenched struggle of power and attitude between my father and Lucius Malfoy clearly had a losing side. My father's. Everyone in our family knew why Father was still in such a low Ministry position after so many years. Supposedly, it was because of his fondness for Muggles. I didn't doubt the link between his interest and his status, but there had to be something more. It wasn't just that he stayed in his job because he was happy. He stayed there because he had no desire to do anything else, no aspirations of becoming something more than he was.

Essentially, he was living my nightmare.

If I did nothing but agree with my father on everything he said, I was doomed to a life of being a nothing. Maybe my father thought Lucius Malfoy's ideas were dangerous, but Mr. Malfoy, unlike my father, would never be content to sit on his ideas and stay in one place no matter how happy his convictions made him. That was no way to get anywhere in life. I knew it, and Mr. Malfoy knew it. I sighed and thought about this for a while, formulating ways I could get his attention.

It had to be in the hallway or perhaps in a small office or the back of a courtroom, in the shadows, away from everyone's eyes. Of course I could have approached someone in my office about setting up a meeting with him, giving our department secretary some fabricated excuse, but if there's one thing the Ministry and its endless reams of parchment teaches you, it's that you will never begin to get anything done unless you skip all the middlemen and go straight to the people at the top. I would find out from my father the date of Mr. Malfoy's court appearance. Should I meet him afterward? Maybe. Before. Yes. Since the outcome of the hearing was unknown, I couldn't bank on being able to talk to him afterwards. Pulling a pad from the drawer of my desk and lighting a single candle, I dipped a quill in ink and began to make a list of everything I had to do, say, and even wear. Planning took me late into the night. I slept on thoughts of wealth and power.

  
  
It was imperative, I knew, to talk fast and think faster. He would never look at me twice unless I gave him no other option. Or he would look at me twice, but with an expression of contempt, and he would never believe a word I said. I had calculated all this, of course, thinking of almost nothing else since my father's raid last Thursday. It was now Tuesday afternoon, and I had taken half a personal day to witness Mr. Malfoy's court appearance. As he had been before, he was cleared of the charges. The judges decided the evidence of his practicing the Dark Arts was insufficient to bring criminal proceedings. I caught him near the end of the hallway leading out from the courtroom.

"Mr. Malfoy, may I speak to you for a moment?"

He paused and turned, each move cool, controlled, and refined. Though we were almost the same height, I straightened to make eye contact. Eye contact was always key in matters like these. If I failed in one small aspect of this meeting, I was doomed to a life of mediocrity, or at least, a life that never reached its full potential.

"Weasley, is it?" I knew from his inflection that I already had a strike against me. Damn my father and his conviction that anyone he didn't like must be hiding half the wizarding world's Dark objects under a loose floorboard in their attic. The Weasley name was a curse.

"Yes, sir. I wanted to know if...if there was anything I could do for you." That did not come out the way I wanted it to. I sounded desperate. However, the words were out, and I had to, as I'd learned in chess, play the game as best I could and try to anticipate my opponent's moves.

His eyes narrowed as he turned his head slightly to the side. I could feel him trying to calculate why I was there and whether I was honest in my intentions. "Do? I don't see what anyone of possibly do, except perhaps convince your father to stop dragging me into this building on trumped-up charges of owning Dark artifacts, trying to ruin my reputation. You're wasting my time." He turned away from me and started walking down the hall.

"Mr. Malfoy, wait!" I said, running to catch up.

He paused and looked back at me, irritation twisting his lip. "For what, Weasley? For you to snivel and simper to me about Barty Crouch's ridiculous demands, or to perhaps play nice and ask me how my wife and child are doing? Do you expect me to believe that one useless Ministry peon could undo years of useless raids on my house and my character? When you have something to say, then say it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to speak with some people which, I'll have you note, would be unnecessary if I hadn't just squandered a day defending myself against your father's latest litany of accusations." He continued toward the Atrium, but I refused to be outpaced.

"I don't agree with him, sir."

"Well, isn't that nice to know? Little Weasley Junior might have some shred of a mind of his own...but it's probably buried in paperwork."

I started to panic. I had to keep him talking to me so I could make my next move, whatever that was supposed to be. My plans were quickly going to hell in an unregulated cauldron.

"The work I do for my department-" I stopped myself. I didn't know what he wanted from me, but I got the feeling he didn't need me to tell him the everyday nature of my work. "Sir, I have always had a mind of my own."

"And you're using that great mind of yours to act as Crouch's errand boy. What a wonderful use of your fine education." His words were saturated in sarcasm, but I couldn't rise to the bait. I had to stay in control, prove not only that I was my own person, but also that I could hold my own against him.

"Though it's true I hold a lower position at the Ministry now, I believe that I am doing quite well for someone less than a year out of Hogwarts."

"Weasley, why are you trying to justify your position? Is it because you think that one day you can one day be as virtuous as your father?"

"I don't think that."

"Then what do you think?" Every word he spoke was low and perfectly modulated, and his emphases came not from increasing the volume of a word, but by lengthening it.

"I think...I think my father is wrong, sir."

"Said with such assurance."

"You were cleared of those charges." This, I felt, was my last chance to gain control of the conversation and tell him of my discoveries. I was sweating under my robes, my heart was pounding, and my face was hot, but I couldn't give him the chance to get away. "I've read some of the old court records, and I know you were found innocent. I believe the judges, sir." That would have to be enough. I feared that if I said any more, I'd start to ramble.

"Your point being?"

"I know my father doesn't like you, Mr. Malfoy, but that doesn't make what he's doing right. In fact, if I may say so, it makes things even more wrong. He's out for redemption rather than justice." I spoke with the self-righteous confidence gained only from unadulterated idiocy. Some might even call it bravery.

"So the impotent Weasley son disagrees with the impotent Weasley father. Well, then. It's an occasion to celebrate."

"Sir, with all due respect, that was uncalled for. I doubt you have always been as strong in your convictions as you are today, and I also doubt you started your Ministry career as anything more than, as you say, a peon."

The shift in the air between us was something I would never be able to describe in words, only in that I felt the pressure change around my heart and in my bones, like my marrow had suddenly become weightless. A new, clear dimension opened in my mind. My body knew, though I was screaming curses at myself in my head, that I had said the right thing. Mr. Malfoy's eyes glimmered. I watched him for a moment, still in denial of what my instincts knew, fearing that I had ruined my only chance to get him to believe me.

Rather than continue to walk, though, Mr. Malfoy stood in his place and nodded slightly, encouraging me to speak.

Had I not been only inches from the wall in the corridor, I'm sure I would have collapsed right there in relief. I had said not only what I believed, but also what he wanted to hear. How I had managed to do this, I still wasn't sure.

"I don't always support my father, sir."

"Yes, Weasley, we've been through that already."

"I believe that those records, not my father, show the truth, sir."

He smiled without showing teeth. "The truth is a difficult, elusive thing, Weasley. As much as you and your piles of paperwork might like to believe otherwise, it's not black and white."

"I'm aware of that, sir. I'm also aware of the difference between the truth and lies, no matter how colored the truth may be." It was a gamble. I didn't know much of what he said behind closed doors, but I did have his court records, and today's ruling, on my side.

"Somehow, Weasley, I get the feeling that you haven't the faintest idea of what constitutes the truth."

When he left me standing in the hall, I knew better than to run after him and demand an answer of any sort. I had done what I could to gain his attention, though the thousand times I had rehearsed in front of the mirror in my bedroom, I had done it with much more finesse. He would contact me immediately, or perhaps never, but the choice no longer lay with me.

By Friday, I had given up hope that Mr. Malfoy would speak to me again and found myself entirely unmotivated at the office. My thoughts drifted and I felt sluggish, even through my pleasant lunch with Wood. He ordered a cup of coffee for me, which I drank dutifully. When I returned to the office, waiting for the caffeine to kick in, I saw a new piece of mail in my in-tray.

This wasn't a standard office memo, I realized as I picked it up and noticed the deep green ink and heavy weight of the parchment. Usually I was the secondary recipient of anything that wasn't a Howler, and for a moment I eyed the memo suspiciously. For all I knew, it was going to spurt ink all over me, or laugh at me, or sing in a high, obnoxious voice. I smiled. At least it might bring some excitement to this afternoon. Carefully, I broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter.

Mr. Percy Weasley,

Your presence is requested at dinner on Saturday, November 26, at seven o'clock in the evening, at the home of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Proper attire is required. Please Apparate to just outside the front gates. You will be escorted from there.

I had to read the letter three times. Surely it was a joke. But from who? I hadn't told anyone about my meeting with Mr. Malfoy outside the courtroom. I knew better than that. I didn't recognize the handwriting at all. But if the invitation was real, I had just over twenty-four hours to prepare for the dinner. That wasn't enough time! I needed a haircut, dress robes, shoes... I pulled out a piece of paper and made a list, relaxing a little as I laid out my goals on paper, figuring how I would reach them. I could do this. I had to.

After work, I caught my father in the corridor and told him I was going to meet a friend in Diagon Alley, and before he could ask me whom it was, I checked my watch, feigning lateness, and ran to the fireplaces in the Ministry atrium. A few seconds later, I climbed out at Diagon Alley and headed for Gringotts, which was open later on Fridays. I had no idea how much new dress robes would cost, so I withdrew what I considered to be an appropriate amount and raced toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, hoping she didn't close early for the weekend.

"Need a hand, dearie? Special occasion?"

"Ah, a dinner party, Madam. I don't know how formal. And I've...I've never been to a dinner party before."

I was going to a place where I wanted to be noticed, and I was there because I had spoken up and made Lucius Malfoy take note of my presence. And if the spotlight was going to be on me, I might as well look the best I could. Thanks to Madam Malkin's eye, that part, at least, would be easy. I talked her out of dressing me in green, not wanting to take the risk of upstaging my host in a crowd unfamiliar to me, and ended up with a set of lightweight wool robes in a gray almost dark enough to be black. I smiled as I paid for them, knowing they made me look much more adult than my standard work robes.

Lying to my parents was easier than I thought it would be. I told them I had a date. It wasn't perhaps the best cover I could think of, but it certainly explained my new robes and shoes, which my mother caught me with when I Apparated into the living room instead of my bedroom. (Distraction, I cursed.) Later, I realized, it was also a good explanation for my nervousness, which I couldn't hide. I figured if dinner at the Malfoys' went poorly, all I had to do was tell my parents the date didn't work out as well as I'd planned. If it did, I could make up future dates. I'd be safe until my parents wanted to meet "Courtney," but I had to cross that bridge when I came to it.

At one minute to seven on Saturday evening, I Apparated in front of a set of wrought iron gates. I shivered underneath my dress cloak, and my stomach was in knots. Stand up straight, I reminded myself. Look people in the eye when you talk to them. Don't argue with anyone. Watch the forks. Try to avoid discussing politics unless you have no choice otherwise. Think of what you want to be, and how they embody that. It's not hard. Just watch everyone else and follow their lead.

I was absolutely terrified.

A man I didn't recognize came down the front walkway, pushed the gates open, and indicated that I should follow him. I nodded, thanked him, and followed him up the path to the house.


End file.
